Name: Wohali Usti
Gender: Male
Breed: Regular
Herd: Kawani Village Herd
Rank: Chief?
Parents: ??? x ???
Siblings: ???
Mate: ??? (implied Uniangeni heritage)
Children: Donehogawa and a lost daughter
Height: 17hh
Accent?: None
Personality and Backstory:
Quote:
Wohali is a fiercely proud and independent stallion...though some of the things he takes pride in are the silliest things. Like his collection of eagle feathers he went out of his way to collect as a colt. Or the fact that his first tattoo was an accident twice over, because he'd followed a hunt he wasn't supposed to, and because the tattoo was meant for another Soquili, it's just that it was misaimed. Underneath the bravado and pride, he's loving, a family stallion, ready and willing to protect everything that's important to him. Including the eagle feathers.
Quote:
Wohali saw the lightning crash down. He didn't move as the child braiding eagle feathers into his mane continued working. The child's fingers tensed, but he held still, hoping to not scare the child.
Thunder growled within seconds afterward. The child stopped, clutching at his mane. Wohali nudged the child onto his back and rose up, watching the lightning. His ears swiveled around, uncertain. The child's father, Wohali's two-legger, came up beside the stallion and rubbed his ears, eyes glued anxiously to the skies. Some of the younger children of the village, who'd been tagging at the adult two-legger's heels, hoping for a chance to ride Wohali, huddled closer, made nervous by the growing storm.
The next spear struck the dry grass. Like tinder, the parched prairie caught fire. Wohali half-reared, surprised. But his two-legger was tugging on his mane. "Get the children out of here!" he said, scooping up the elder children onto the tall stallion's back, and the smaller onto a nearby travois he quickly rigged to Wohali. Without even a slap on the rump, Wohali booked it, his hooves pounding on the dry ground. The children cried out and hung on. Meanwhile, he glimpsed his two-legger and other adults hurrying to the animal pens. A weight shifted over his heart, and then lifted. His family. They might not be able to get out of the pens and escape. But the two-leggers would help. HIS two-legger would help.
Wohali left the children on the river bank outside the village. He knew the children couldn't really talk to him, but he spoke, anyway. "Stay here. If the fire gets too close, get in the river." He added in nudges to indicate that they should stay by the river. With that, he charged back toward the village.
Finding the first baskets he could, he dashed back to the river, filled them, and charged back to the two-leggers who were fighting the fire. On the way, he glimpsed other Soquili. Some were doing their best to help. Others were running for it. Wohali ignored those who were too scared to fight. After all, to live with pride, he should do his best to fight the fire and save people.
It wasn't until after the fire that it occurred to him. He hadn't seen his lovely, brilliant lifemate come out of the village. Or his two-legger.
Thunder growled within seconds afterward. The child stopped, clutching at his mane. Wohali nudged the child onto his back and rose up, watching the lightning. His ears swiveled around, uncertain. The child's father, Wohali's two-legger, came up beside the stallion and rubbed his ears, eyes glued anxiously to the skies. Some of the younger children of the village, who'd been tagging at the adult two-legger's heels, hoping for a chance to ride Wohali, huddled closer, made nervous by the growing storm.
The next spear struck the dry grass. Like tinder, the parched prairie caught fire. Wohali half-reared, surprised. But his two-legger was tugging on his mane. "Get the children out of here!" he said, scooping up the elder children onto the tall stallion's back, and the smaller onto a nearby travois he quickly rigged to Wohali. Without even a slap on the rump, Wohali booked it, his hooves pounding on the dry ground. The children cried out and hung on. Meanwhile, he glimpsed his two-legger and other adults hurrying to the animal pens. A weight shifted over his heart, and then lifted. His family. They might not be able to get out of the pens and escape. But the two-leggers would help. HIS two-legger would help.
Wohali left the children on the river bank outside the village. He knew the children couldn't really talk to him, but he spoke, anyway. "Stay here. If the fire gets too close, get in the river." He added in nudges to indicate that they should stay by the river. With that, he charged back toward the village.
Finding the first baskets he could, he dashed back to the river, filled them, and charged back to the two-leggers who were fighting the fire. On the way, he glimpsed other Soquili. Some were doing their best to help. Others were running for it. Wohali ignored those who were too scared to fight. After all, to live with pride, he should do his best to fight the fire and save people.
It wasn't until after the fire that it occurred to him. He hadn't seen his lovely, brilliant lifemate come out of the village. Or his two-legger.
Quote:
Wohali walked among the ashes. Most of the Soquili baskets had made it out OK, and one of the mothers said she'd seen his lifemate carrying the Soquili baskets out of the fire. The only child of his he could find, his young son, walked with him. The colt's mother and sister were still missing.
Regretfully, Wohali had to admit that his eagle feather collection was probably all gone. Well, except for those his two-legger's child had brought with when they escaped. But he still had his favorite feathers. And the eagle skull. But it was worth checking. Maybe his girls had grabbed the feathers and escaped?
They reached the teepee. Or where it had been before. Nosing through the rubble, Wohali and his son couldn't find any feathers. Just charred baskets, and lots of ashes. But no bones. They moved on.
Wohali nosed his son, who looked sad and scared and about to cry. "Hey, kiddo, it's OK. Maybe your mom and sister made it out OK?"
The colt sniffled and nodded as they continued to walk. Ahead of them, a group of two-leggers were burying some Soquili bones. Wohali didn't stop his son as he charged ahead with a cry. Wohali followed, refusing to break up. The colt needed him, and besides, the girls might not be dead.
But in the uncovered graves, he saw it. A flash of familiar jewelry. Pushing the two-leggers aside, he nosed through and saw them. The jewelry of his daughter and lifemate.
Tears clouded his red eyes, and his son buried his face in his father's legs to cry. Wohali stared, feeling his proud heart die a little.
His little princess, gone. A little adventuress, always running and playing and skipping about.
His beautiful lifemate, who'd called him her handsome goofball, gone. A wildborn Soquili who'd never been completely happy in the village.
His two-legger, gone. A partner and a friend on any hunting trip.
His home, gone. The place where he'd lived all his life with his family and the two-leggers of the village.
All he had left were his son and the other survivors. A foal who wasn't ready to face the world without the love of his dear ones around him. Wohali made a promise to himself as he curled around his little colt, nuzzling him as they both cried. They would build a new life together. He'd raise his two-legger's child and his own so they wouldn't miss their lost parents. They'd live on, build life anew. But they'd never forget what they'd lost, and the courage displayed by the survivors of the fire.
Regretfully, Wohali had to admit that his eagle feather collection was probably all gone. Well, except for those his two-legger's child had brought with when they escaped. But he still had his favorite feathers. And the eagle skull. But it was worth checking. Maybe his girls had grabbed the feathers and escaped?
They reached the teepee. Or where it had been before. Nosing through the rubble, Wohali and his son couldn't find any feathers. Just charred baskets, and lots of ashes. But no bones. They moved on.
Wohali nosed his son, who looked sad and scared and about to cry. "Hey, kiddo, it's OK. Maybe your mom and sister made it out OK?"
The colt sniffled and nodded as they continued to walk. Ahead of them, a group of two-leggers were burying some Soquili bones. Wohali didn't stop his son as he charged ahead with a cry. Wohali followed, refusing to break up. The colt needed him, and besides, the girls might not be dead.
But in the uncovered graves, he saw it. A flash of familiar jewelry. Pushing the two-leggers aside, he nosed through and saw them. The jewelry of his daughter and lifemate.
Tears clouded his red eyes, and his son buried his face in his father's legs to cry. Wohali stared, feeling his proud heart die a little.
His little princess, gone. A little adventuress, always running and playing and skipping about.
His beautiful lifemate, who'd called him her handsome goofball, gone. A wildborn Soquili who'd never been completely happy in the village.
His two-legger, gone. A partner and a friend on any hunting trip.
His home, gone. The place where he'd lived all his life with his family and the two-leggers of the village.
All he had left were his son and the other survivors. A foal who wasn't ready to face the world without the love of his dear ones around him. Wohali made a promise to himself as he curled around his little colt, nuzzling him as they both cried. They would build a new life together. He'd raise his two-legger's child and his own so they wouldn't miss their lost parents. They'd live on, build life anew. But they'd never forget what they'd lost, and the courage displayed by the survivors of the fire.
Where we pick up Wohali's story is his work to reforge the Kawani Village Herd, as one of its chiefs.
